


Monsters Under the Bed

by MilitaryPenguin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage, Monster sex, Other, POV Second Person, Tentacles, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16677214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilitaryPenguin/pseuds/MilitaryPenguin
Summary: You're a college student stressing over meeting a deadline and getting some sleep. What do you do? It sounds crazy, but a monster under the bed might be just what the doctor ordered.





	Monsters Under the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in September of 2012 on my NSFW Tumblr and decided to post it here should Tumblr's recently-enforced purge of blogs with pornographic content wipe this story from cyber-existence.
> 
> The protagonist in this is written with a deliberately ambiguous gender and physical sex to grant the reader ease of imagining themself in their POV.

It’s three in the morning and you have four hours left of sleep until you’ll have to wake up, shower, get dressed, eat a decent meal, and finish that essay. Oh god that essay. Its shadow lingered over you throughout the week, yet its presence was never enough to pull you away from that game you were playing. Or that site you were browsing. Or that comic you were reading.

You made a few meager attempts at writing it, to your credit, but now you had how many pages left to do? And three hours to get it done should you multitask the other things. Well, clothes won’t be a problem, or showering. Eating…might take a while depending on which wins the battle between hunger and anxiety viciously being fought in your stomach.

You consider yourself a good, responsible student, and the teachers you’ve had throughout your school life would agree. But this was a new semester and a new teacher to make an impression on, and she was no slouch with grading, either. You have to put your damndest into this essay, no matter what, or you’ll be branded in the teacher’s head as one of _those_ students. One of those she’ll inevitably eyeball when she assigns the next essay with the advice, “And I suggest you _try not to do it all overnight._ ” The thought squeezes your stomach like a stress ball. You didn’t want that, no matter what.

But first, you need sleep.

But that’s just the problem, sleep refuses to come. You lie there, limbs hanging off the sides of your bed, mulling over how you’re going to get this damn essay done and get it done _well_. You try closing your eyes, but all you can concentrate on is the tensity of your body. You can’t sleep. You can’t stop thinking.

And then you feel something brush across your ankle.

Immediately, you bolt up in bed. What the _hell_ was that? Was that just a spider, the brush of a blanket falling from the bed, or just your imagination? You’ve no idea, but a new wave of paranoia has seized your body and now you _really_ can’t sleep.

Still, you slump back in bed. It was just a light touch, nothing harmful. You assume your previous position, limbs hanging off the bed. The shiver of panic quickly wears off, thankfully, and with that sudden boost of adrenaline that crashed and burned, you think you maybe, just maybe, be able to fall asleep. Your eyes flutter shut, though the tornado of stress is still stirring inside you from your limbs to the tips of your toes. You inhale and exhale softly, as frequently suggested by your peers, survivors of last-minute essay stress.

But then you feel it again, and this time it isn’t just brushing against you, it’s _coiling around your foot_.

_What the fuck?!_

You use your other foot to force the thing off, and a jolt of a new, different sensation takes over your feet as you attempt to fight it off. This wasn’t a snake, it was something with hair--a soft, bristly kind like you’d find on the stem of some sort of flower. It sends a tingly feeling throughout your feet that makes the rest of your body thrash in bed, until you successfully kick the thing off you.

You pull all of your limbs into the inner part of your bed and gather your blankets to wrap around your body. You suppose it’d be better to just turn on the lamp or at least try and call the police to report a break-in, but you’re too scatterbrained to act rationally and dammit, something about these blankets just felt _safe_.

You’re now in a cocoon of blankets, with just a tiny opening made for you to breathe. You’re feeling like a little kid again, afraid of the monsters lurking under your bed and wrapping yourself in blankets as though they’d be a defensive shield against them. You’d be the laughing stock of the college campus if they found out about the position you were in now. You claimed yourself not to be a superstitious person--so why does “monster under the bed” keep running through your head? You’re an adult. You’re capable of logical thought. You know it can’t be anything more than just a blanket you accidentally got your foot coiled in.

You know, despite distinctly feeling its grip around you.

And yet you remain under the blankets, shivering and shaking like a child. Suddenly, the essay has lost all relevance in your panicked mind as something worth worrying about. Safety. Security. Sleep. These were the top priorities now.

As though this thing (if there was anything at all) could possibly hear you, you try to slow your breathing to a crawl, as silently as possible. It’s hard, as you feel the lack of oxygen intake in your little blanket cocoon, coupled with the heat of your breath and the layers of blankets around you. You try keeping your shivering to a minimum, too--somehow your body refuses to stay still.

Minutes pass, and you begin to wonder if it was just your stress-laced imagination running wild.

And then you feel the weight of something long and thin snake its way up over your blankets.

And more following.

You have to force your body to stay absolutely still now, at whatever cost. This thing wanted you--hell, _it tried coiling around your foot_ to the point you had to fight it off it wanted you that badly. For what, though? A snack? Were people really going to find the bones and gory remains of a young college student on this bed the next day? It seemed so ludicrous, it could have been amusing were the top of the blankets you were hiding under not crawling with god-knows-what.

You buckle your knees inward and wrap your arms around them, curling yourself into a ball. Extra useless “safety” precaution. The thing or things continue to slither and explore the outside of your cocoon, and one of them pulls a layer off.

Your already beating heart is now pounding painfully hard against your chest.

Another layer is peeled off.

You bury your face in your arms, praying to whatever deity that could spare you from a gruesome fate.

You feel the cool air touch your skin as the final blanket is pulled off, but continue to remain in your balled-up position. The good news was that between you hiding your face and it being pitch black in the room you at least wouldn’t have to see what horrible monstrosity was hunting you down.

Or did that only make it worse?

The things…the _vines_ , you decide, slither over your body and--with astounding strength and no effort--force your body open. Two of them wrap around your arms, pinning them down, while another pair wraps around and pins your legs down and apart. Now you truly are helpless against this monster under your bed.

You squeeze your eyes shut as though it would black out the feeling of the monster’s jaws clamping down on you, but nothing of the sort ever arrives.

Instead, you feel one of the vines stroke your cheek. An expression of affection, or just its way of tenderizing meat? The soft hairs gently brushing against your cheek do give a tingle of warmth and even comfort, however, and your eyes flutter closed, now too relaxed to ponder the possibilities of this monster’s intentions.

A vine slides down your arm and burrows its way into your armpit. Another one follows the act, sliding down your other arm and pit. Your eyes fly open. They worm and wiggle their way in your pits in a way that makes you try to kick your legs in response, but the strength of the vines is too great, and they successfully hold your shivering legs down. Your upper body, meanwhile, squirms and thrashes about at the vines circling around in your armpits. Just what the _hell_ was this thing trying to do?

You clench your teeth, determined not to make a sound even as you lie captured and exposed in front of the beast.

More vines slide upward, this time slipping under your shirt. You feel your belly tingling all over as some of them slither around your stomach, poking and probing at it with their tips, while the others explore your sides, stroking them up and down teasingly.

It’s become clear to you now, this monster is trying….to tickle you! Fuck, it’s a _tickle monster!_

You’re now unable to hold it back any longer, what with the vines exploring all of your most sensitive areas at once--sliding and wiggling around the insides of your armpits, stroking and poking your stomach and ribs--this is torture! You squirm and thrash and _laugh_ uncontrollably, trying to rip away from the monster’s tickling. But no, your laughter and weak attempts at fighting it off only encourage it. You feel the vines dig harder into your pits and and stroke faster against your belly and ribs and you can do nothing more than laugh and shake your head, tears beading out the corners of your eyes.

Your bare feet aren’t safe either, of course. More vines slither up and explore the soles of your feet and slither between your toes. And more keep coming--these slide under your pajama bottoms and tickle your thighs. God, they're _everywhere!_ Your stomach is starting to ache from laugher.

Despite your prior failed attempts, you continue trying to wrestle out of the monster’s hold, but it only tightens and constricts around you harder. You continue feeling the vines jabbing and stroking every inch of you mercilessly and wonder if you should just scream “help!” Why haven’t you screamed at all, apart from screams of laughter?

Amidst all the violent ticklish sensations everywhere and your exhausted body squirming at every touch of the bristly vines, you feel yet another vine slide under your pajama pants and slip into your--SHIT! It wasn’t planning on going _there_ , was it? But the vines, as though reading your mind with amusement, tickle you even harder, every inch of your skin screaming with a headache-inducing contradictory mix of pain and pleasure, and all you can do is keep laughing and sobbing as those once mere drops of tears from your eyes are now streaming down your face. God, when was this thing going to let up?!

You feel that other vine now, slipping in your underwear, and the vines suddenly cease tickling to allow you to catch your breath. Then you start to shiver again, feeling this vine brushing and massaging against your genitals. You feel the rational side of you should be yelling in protest at this monster to get the hell away from that, but your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth hangs open instead, issuing a low moan of pleasure. This vine monster’s soft texture working its way around and inside of you is so bizarrely pleasant, so unbelievably stimulating that your body relaxes just as it shudders.

And then, just when you’re feeling relaxed enough to maybe fall asleep, the rest of the vines start tickling you again.

 _“Bastards!”_ you want to shout, but by now your vocal chords are so worn out and you’re so overstimulated that laughing and moaning is all your mouth is capable of now. The circular motions of the vines in your armpits, the teasing strokes and jabs of them on your stomach and sides, the rubbing against your thighs, the slipping in and out between your toes and tracing of the bottoms of your soles--

And now the arousal clambering up inside you by the talented vine’s spot on inspection of your sweet spot. You’re feeling dizzy and aching and even _wonderful_ with all those vines driving you mad, making your nerve endings scream. You want that one vine to just make you _come already_ but it prefers to tease and keep you on edge, just like the rest of them.

You want to gasp “please” but again, your throat is hopelessly hoarse and parched, and would this monster even understand a word of your language? And even if it did, would it really pay any mind? You’re nothing but a panting, crying, laughing heap now, and if you had to hazard a guess the vine monster--the _tickle monster_ was savoring every drip of your reaction.

“ _Yesss…_ ” you can almost hear its voice in your head, “ _Keep moaning and laughing for me, you worthless, wretched human. I’ll tickle you and keep you from coming until you have to leave for school. This is what you get for being so irresponsible. You earned this torture._ ”

And for some reason, just imagining this monster speaking those words in your head is making your arousal _stronger_. Oh god.

 _Yes! Yes, I absolutely deserved this torture!_ , you think to yourself as sweat from your brow drips down and mixes with the laughter-enduced tears on your cheeks. The essay has now been effectively pushed into the darkest reaches of the back of your mind. Only physical stimulation of all kinds could be on your mind right now. It was the only thing _to_ take in.

Your body is growing weary of the tickling, now slumping against the vines holding you and wiggling all over your sensitive spots. No use struggling now. You’ve surrendered your twitching, squirming body to this monster. It was free to do whatever it wished with it.

The vines seem to respond positively to this, wrapping around you gently while a few remain in your tickle-spots that still make you laugh weakly. The constricting vines massage your weary body, bristles still tickling your exposed skin, but not with the force that left you drenched in sweat and tears.

As your body is massaged and sensitive spots are lightly tickled, you feel that vine in your underwear no longer teasing you, but poking and prodding at that spot--YES! That one!!--and the vines holding your legs down lessen their grip on you to allow your knees to buckle in and toes to curl. It’s pumping against you hard, and the bristles are doing wonders at teasing you just enough to give your arousal a proper kick in the climax.

You gasp as it worms against you harder, and the vines start to tickle you harder again too. They know your secret now. They _know_ this is what turns you on. And it’s pointless to deny it. The bristles all over your skin, their ends poking and prodding at the spots where your nerve endings spark wildly--the vine working its way in your genital area is just the icing on the cake. You laugh and moan all at once, but the laughter no longer feels strained--it feels good, somehow, in its helplessness. Just like the orgasm the vine is building up in you now.

Arousal, ticklishness. Irrepressible, unbearably sensual sensations that you now welcome with open arms.

And--shit, it’s here! Your body tenses up, teeth clenched and sweat dripping, you feel a small gush of warm, sticky fluid inside you and gasp. And the vine keeps at it--it isn’t letting you go away with just _one_ orgasm under your belt, oh no, you’re going to need _more_ than that. You’re a greedy one, but lucky for you, so is the monster. You wonder if it takes sustenance from the energy of your violent reactions, but the thought is pushed aside once the vine grinds against you again and its companions continue their work in refusing to let a moment of time go without you laughing helplessly.

You come again, moaning and panting as the vine pokes and massages the various parts of you as thought it were its tongue. You barely have the time to catch your breath before it rubs hard up against you and you come one last time.

You gasp and pant, come dribbling down your leg from your soaked underwear. The tickling vines withdraw themselves from you, and the vines pinning you down unbind your limbs. Though you can’t see them, you presume they’re returning to their spot under your bed, satisfied and contented by the human they just played with.

But one last vine remains. It brushes across your lips, prodding your mouth to open, and drips in a liquid that nourishes your dry, sore throat. You feel it caress your cheek now, and your drained, exhausted body flows into a state of relaxation and peace.

You finally fall asleep.


End file.
